


It's Tough Being in Charge

by BellarkeBelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drunk Clarke, F/M, Fluff, everything I write is fluff or smut I don't know I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:13:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellarkeBelle/pseuds/BellarkeBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes even fearless leaders need a nap.</p><p>or</p><p>Clarke gets drunk and won't let anybody have any fun until Bellamy makes her go to bed. In his tent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Tough Being in Charge

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I'm trying to make myself work on more side projects so I can publish actual side projects while I churn through my baby monster (53 pages what what) 
> 
> Which led me to posting one of my old drafts instead of actually writing something new.
> 
> Huge shoutout to [ BoldBellamy ](%E2%80%9Dboldbellamy.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) for betaing. I'm a mess without you. I don't even know what periods are. Or grammar. Who the fuck invented this language?

As it turned out, Drunk Clarke wasn’t all that different from Sober Clarke. Maybe she was a little more free with her opinions, but it wasn’t like she had kept them to herself before. She didn’t turn into the giggling, twirling butterfly Octavia became after a few drinks behind her brother’s back, at least.

“We’re not doing that.”

“Why not?” Raven demanded, slurring slightly and intense.

“Because, because… because of some really good reasons.”

Okay, so maybe she was a _little_ different - but to be fair, it was hard to tell, most people tuned her out after “No” anyway.

In fact, for the most part, Lincoln and Clarke were the only ones that remained pretty much the same with an extra dose of moonshine in their veins. Sure, Lincoln seemed to lose even the _capacity_ for facial expression, barely glancing down when Octavia fell sloppily into his side, fingers tracing the cuts of his arms, but that was Lincoln, that’s what Lincoln _did_.

Monty was laughing, and Jasper was laughing louder, the two of them stumbling together, leaning heavily on one another as they circled the fire, loose tongues feeding god-knows-what to what appeared to be an adoring crowd.

Even Bellamy was smiling, half of his mouth twisted upwards as his gaze skimmed lazily over the cluster of girls clumping around him.

So really, it was only Clarke and Lincoln not having a good time, and while this wasn’t _unusual_ , it definitely wasn’t acceptable.

“Okay, no, that’s not - Are you kidding me?” Blonde hair glowing in the firelight, she pulled the _highly flammable liquid_ away from the unsteady hands of ‘dancing’ teenagers. A little unsteady herself, she threw her hand out loosely, barely catching the wall in time to right herself.

Across the camp, Bellamy excused himself, easy smile replacing the earlier smirk as he rolled his eyes, rushing off, once again, to save the Princess.

Not that she ever needed saving.

No, screw that - we all need saving sometimes.

“Need some help, Princess?” he grinned, catching her by the elbow.

“No.” She shook her head vehemently, not quite succeeding at making eye contact.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” he laughed, free hand dropping to her waist as he guided her toward the tents.

“No, no, I have to-”

“I think they can take care of themselves for one night.”

“But, but,” Her face screwed up, the reasons there, but unreachable.

“But what, Princess?”

“But they’re so _drunk_.” Clarke enthused, gesticulating helplessly.

Bellamy laughed. “I think you’re the drunkest one here, Princess.”

“ _I’m_ not drunk.” Clarke looked affronted, “ _You’re_ drunk.” she accused, lurching into his side. “Whoa, was that an earthquake?” she muttered, eyes widening, “Bellamy, get everyone clear of the dropship, try to keep them far enough from the tree line that nothing’s going to fall on them. Shit, I didn’t even think of this.”

”Clarke.” Bellamy bit back a grin, righting her, “There’s no earthquake, we’re fine, it’s all fine, you’re going to drink some water and go to sleep, and in the morning you can go back to worrying about everyone and everything, okay?”

“I’m not tired.” she protested belligerently, straightening someone’s loose tent pole as they passed.

“Of course you’re not, Princess.” Bellamy soothed, ushering her into a tent and passing her a canteen.

Clarke gulped down the water absentmindedly, eyeing her surroundings suspiciously. “This isn’t my tent.”

“Clarke, your tent consists of a blanket and the floor, it’s too cold for that shit.”

“M’not a Princess,” the blonde slurred, tipping into the nest of furs lining Bellamy’s bed.

Bellamy just lifted an eyebrow.

“I don’t get to have more than anybody else.”

“No one thinks you’re abusing your power, Clarke.”

“‘Cuz, m’not.” Clarke mumbled, fingers curling into the pelts.

“No, you’re not, instead you give away your stuff and sneak your rations onto other people’s plates.” Bellamy chided, pulling a blanket up over her shoulders.

“Only when they look hungry!” She protested, burrowing into the bed.

“Goodnight, Clarke.” Bellamy sighed, smiling slightly as he turns to leave.

“Where’re you going? Bellamy! Bell don’t leave.” Clarke panicked drunkenly.

“What is it, Princess?”

“M’cold.”

“Try using the blanket, Clarke.” She struggled with the worn cloth, tangling her limbs and twisting clumsily.

“You should come use it too.”

Bellamy just raised an eyebrow.

“‘Cuz you look cold.”

He didn’t respond, untwisting the blanket and tucking it around her instead.

“Please, Bellamy?” Clarke’s lip trembled, and suddenly she was wide-eyed and young again.

Sighing, Bellamy gave up his plans for the night, and crawled into the pocket of warmth next to her. She hummed happily and curled into him, pillowing her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist, tangling her legs with his. It was nice, seeing her feel safe enough to relax, knowing she felt safe with him.

She mumbled something into his shirt, pressing closer and sighing.

“What’s that, Princess?”

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” She hummed, pressing into his hand where his fingers carded through her hair.

“I’m glad you’re not dead too, Clarke.” It’s almost inane, the conversation they were having, but he feels it’s weight in his stomach, feels something like relief start to dissolve it.

“I would be sad if you were dead.” She slurred, and he laughed, squeezing the arm holding her.

“I would be shattered.” He admitted quietly, thinking about how much he’s come to rely on the golden-haired daughter of the council. It didn’t bother him now, and thinking about how much it used to, he was a little ashamed.

“Bellamy?” She murmured, a little while after he thought she’d fallen asleep.

“Yeah, Princess?”

“If we still had weddings, I would want to have one with you.”

“Why is that?” He asked, teasing.

“Because we’re already a team. We’ve got this game down. Nobody would be as good at this marriage shit as us.”

He laughed, threw an arm under the pillow and listened to her giggle into his chest. “Yeah, Princess, we would rock this marriage shit.”

“Bellamy.” She stage whispered after a beat.

“What?”

“I have a secret.” He thought she might have tried to tap her nose, but she mostly just wriggled her arm weakly against him.

“What is it?”

“We already do.”

A pause follows, filled only by the gentle whoosh of their breathing, and when she started snoring he knew this time she was asleep for real. Her fingers twitched and tangled into his shirt and he smiled.

“Yeah, we do.”

There’s not what anyone would call a change around camp, after that. No sudden shift, or weird vibes. Clarke has her first hangover and spends the day organizing medicinal herbs and griping when people breathe too loudly, and Octavia makes Lincoln give her a piggyback ride everywhere, but there’s really nothing amiss.

If she doesn’t end up going back to her empty tent, it’s only because Bellamy is a really, really good cuddler.

And really, Drunk Clarke didn’t say anything Sober Clarke wasn’t thinking. They weren’t all that different, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me at [ PersephoneClarke ](%E2%80%9DPersephoneclarke.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)! I'm literally always so down to chat. It aids and abets my procrastination.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Keep your eye out for some bellarke smut coming out soon, it's still fluffy as hell but at least it's something new ;)


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